April 2019, I matched with a guy on Bumble by the name of ‘Levi’. The pictures on his profile presented him as an easy-going, down-to-earth guy. We exchanged the usual online-dating small talk to see what things we had in common, relating that we each owned a dog.

My issue with dog owners and online dating is that people seem to believe having a dog is a personality trait. Guys think it gives them a ‘leg up’, as demonstrated when a male dog urinates, neither seem to have a problem peeing on trees. Perhaps they interpreted this similarity as a character-building activity with man’s best friend.

Girls freak out over male dog owners, thinking this is their opportunity to showcase their nurturing and domestic skills. On their millennial search to achieve “Wifey-Material” status, they believe caring for a man’s furbaby will make them worthy. While your dog may affectionately thank and praise you for food from a can, the same standards typically don’t apply when you prepare Chef Boyardee for a grown man.

The next level up from the standard dog-owning pride are the guys who have adopted their dogs and think that this makes them a VIP dog owner. My parents adopted me, you don’t see them bragging to others! I put a deposit down when my dog was born and waited three months for him and people think that means I’m not committed???? I’m as committed as someone in a mental institution!!

So anyway, Levi was doing the usual pretentious spiel about how he loves his dog, he really is  man’s best friend, rides shotgun, and it’s them against the world. I’ve come to interpret the way people speak about their dogs as a direct expression of who they are. Someone who raves about their pet in the sense it’s superior than all others of its breed often thinks the same way about himself. 

I arrived for our date at Break Room 86 in Koreatown, Los Angeles and met Levi outside. He was smoking a cigarette, wearing a leather jacket and combat boots, his hair clearly slicked back under his hat, truly embodying the idea of a greaser. I was wearing my usual bootie heels and knew as I approached him, I would be taller. I have no problem dating someone shorter than I am, but I’ve learnt it tends to give many guys a complex. Observing his body language, I knew this would be the case with him. 

We entered the retro-style bar, with cassettes lining the walls and arcade machines. It was a pretty cool place and several of my friends had spoken highly of it. There was a bar area with substantial walking space, room for dancing and then staggered levels of tables. Behind the tables were private karaoke rooms with small windows, a staple in any Koreatown bar. All the private rooms were occupied and you could hear the competing music coming from them.

Scanning the room for an empty table, we found one closer to the back. Like a normal person, I sat down in the designated area. Levi was not ready to play “normal customer” yet and walked over to one of the private booths with the windows. Like a peeping Tom, he went up to each window and peered through. Apparently, this didn’t satisfy his curiosity, as he went to the door and fully walked into their karaoke session, excusing himself when everyone went silent and stared at him. He shrugged his shoulders and came to sit down with me, playing it off like imposing himself on others was their issue not his. That’s basically the equivalent of being at a club, walking up to someone’s private table, looking into the ice bucket to see what they ordered, and then walking away. You just don’t do that. He would probably be the kind of person to open the fridge at your parents’ house after meeting them for the first time. Too comfortable, too fast makes me uncomfortable. 

Now seated across from me, he asked what I would like to drink. I asked for my usual Tito’s and water as he stood up and looked toward the bar. Now standing above me, with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops he kept looking towards the bar and then back at me. His prolonged stare and stance made me assume he was mentally planning the quickest route there.

I gave this guy too much credit.

Levi: So…what, you’re just going to sit there? 

Umm didn’t this guy just offer to go get the drinks? 

Levi: Well…I don’t want to walk allll the way over there on my own. You’re really not going to come with me??

I thought his height was genetic, not relative to his maturity, that he needed a chaperone.

Me: Sorry, I have heels on and rather not walk, but I’ll hold the table?

Levi huffed to himself and let out a “Wowwwww” slightly under his breath but audible enough for me to hear and grudgingly headed towards the bar.

Me: Make sure to put extra GHB in mine!

He didn’t seem to find my comment as funny as I did. I was left sitting there genuinely confused. The bar was in plain view, he was getting two drinks and he had two hands, why would I have had to go?

He came back and set my drink down in front of me, “Thereeeeeee you go, Tito’s and water”.

I thanked him and smiled, knowing I was going to have to play nice in an attempt to neutralize the situation. Approaching an easy subject, I asked what he did for work. He was an actor. Sometimes I feel I don’t ask people enough questions but the wonderful thing about insecure guys is that you don’t need to. They’ll answer the questions you didn’t even know you asked! Levi took my one generic question of “What do you do?” and ran with it. Kudos to his memory as he recited me his entire IMBD work history. Honestly, it was probably more aligned with a Wikipedia page but I played along. The work he listed was the equivalent of being the anonymous patient on the operating table in an episode of ‘Grey’s Anatomy’. I feigned interest, congratulating him when I thought he expected it. Confident in his Z-list celebrity status at most, he offered to hire me as his personal makeup artist on his next set. I mean that is absolutely not how the industry works but I nodded and smiled for the hundredth time. My compliant attitude apparently encouraging him to go on.

Levi pulls out his phone. “Let me actually show you the kind of makeup I like. I just love a good sun-kissed glow, you know, like not too contoured but like chiseled.”

Me: Yeah, I get that, normally I don’t do a lot of makeup on guys.

I may as well have been talking to myself.

Levi: I’ve seen some guys where I just don’t like their makeup, some guys they don’t know what they like but I do.

Never have I had a guy show me inspiration pics for the kind of makeup he would like…unless it’s special effects. Male makeup is typically only the basics and where needed. 

Levi searches through Google images continuing “I love Tom Cruise’s makeup, it’s really natural, but he’s always perfectly bronzed.”

I didn’t even know how to respond to that…like yes, I’m a makeup artist but this was just so bizarre to me. God only knows how much time he spent admiring himself in the mirror to be able to come to that conclusion. Knowing my only chance at changing the subject would still need to revolve around him I asked about the tattoos visible on his arms. He had a solid black armband around one of his forearms and then a few others scattered across both arms. Like a good show-and-tell presentation he began explaining each one before landing on a pair of army dog tags. He wraps his hand around it pausing to cherish it for a moment before continuing.

Levi: This one is really sentimental. It’s actually for my grandfather, he fought in the war and so he’s always been an inspiration to me.

Me: Oh cool, mine too, which war did your grandfather serve in?

Levi: Oh! Pfft. Well, I never asked him that!

He looked at me as if I had just said the ludicrous statement of the evening and not him! What!? Howwww can you even say someone is an inspiration to you but then not be curious about the event you deemed them inspirational for? You went ahead and got their ID tattooed on your body but never took two seconds to ask them or even one of your relatives which war he served in?? I mean fuck say Vietnam or WWII, I would’ve been none the wiser and at least you wouldn’t have come across as an ignorant prick! 

I was still attempting to process his idiocy when he asked me to go outside with him for a cigarette. I don’t smoke so I tried to use my walking/heel excuse again to stay inside but he kept pleading. Exasperated, I figured it would be easier to just oblige. We got outside for him to let me know he had actually smoked his last one before but we could quickly cross the street to the store so he could grab a new pack. Ugh, this calculatjng little shit is making me walk more now.

We crossed the street and outside the store was a homeless man asking for change. I’m inviting any interaction at this point to avoid the bozo. I apologized to the man that I didn’t have any cash on me, but I’d gladly pick something up for him. He simply requested a pack of sunflower seeds, I asked if that was all and he nodded. I smiled in acknowledgment and pulled the door to the store open not wanting to make this more than the simple gesture that it was. Levi apparently had another agenda and fucking LOVED the idea of helping someone out and got all jumpy. 

Levi: Yeah man! Totally! Let’s go inside! Pick out whatever you want, man!!

Noooo, please don’t be that guy! You’re already bad enough! His actions weren’t coming from a genuine place of kindness but more for his own fulfillment. I’m surprised he didn’t ask me to film him doing this “good deed”.  I wouldn’t put it past him to fall into that category of people whom I dislike more than adopting dog-owners. Both may independently be good acts but they get discredited when done looking for approval. 

Anyway, back to the current scene where Levi is basically jumping up and down like a frat boy at a tailgate, hustling the man into the store. 

Levi: So man, what do you want? Beer? Cigarettes? Papers? You want it, you got it! You tell me man, I got you!

Again the man just politely asks for some sunflower seeds.

Levi: Nahhhh man, come onnnn! You want alcohol eh? You want a beer, don’t you? Get yourself a beer!

Fuck, I need a beer, feeling my face get increasingly red from embarrassment.

The man: I’m okay, thank you, I’m actually sober. 

Levi: Ahhhhh okay okay, no worries, as I said, I got you man. No alcohol, No problem! You probably want cigarettes though no? Let’s get you cigarettes! 

I was fucking enraged at that point, disgusted by his arrogant attitude. Levi was standing at the cash, his back to the cashier angling himself as if preaching to me and the homeless man. He was pointing to parts of the store as if to demonstrate what the almighty Levi could offer us. The homeless man and I just stared blankly at him. The way he had positioned his body blocked me from buying the things myself and walking out. I turned to the man beside me and encouraged him to take the cigarettes and trade them with someone afterwards. The man nodded in agreement, both of us wanting this pompous idiot to shut up. I apologized for Levi’s behaviour, wished him a good night and excused myself to wait outside. What was meant to be a casual act had been hijacked into a complete shitshow. I figured removing myself would remove Levi’s ‘audience’ and hopefully there could be some redemption. Why did I continually give this kid the benefit of the doubt? I thought maximum ignorance had already been reached when I heard about his tattoo, but he surprised me again. As Levi walked out of the store, I was walking toward the corner in search of my Uber. Levi jogged up to me and grabbed my arm. “Wait, wait, wait! I have to tell you this! I think I REALLY made a change for that guy!”

Lord have mercy.

Levi: You know, I looked at that guy, you know, really looked at him and I told him… He didn’t have to be homeless!!!

I blinked.

Levi: Yeah! Like I looked at him and said Bro, you know, you don’t gotta be homeless and he looked back at me and he said ‘yeahhhhhhh you’re right’ like I totally made a difference in this guy’s life!

At this point he had started laughing to himself like he just won the lottery, smiling ear to ear.

Levi: Wowwww! I just feel good!!! Wowwwww! You should’ve seen it! He agreed!

I think I was genuinely dumbfounded. There have been few moments in my life that have left me speechless due to others’ arrogance but this made the list. I am terrible at confrontation or in an uncomfortable position, but I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

“You don’t think that guy is aware that he’s homeless? You don’t know the situations that got him there! Whether he’s a veteran, mentally ill, whether it was drugs like you assumed or he was just shit out of luck. Did you offer him a purposeful resource to help him change his path? You assumed that because he was homeless, he was an addict and you telling him he didn’t need to be merits respect like you’re the messiah who saved him???”

My Uber had been four minutes away before I started my rant but I guess time flies when you’re having fun. Maybe it was arrogant on my end to have unleashed on him just before leaving, maybe he did have the right intentions just the wrong delivery, nonetheless you can’t argue with stupid.

………

On a more serious note, I don’t often react to situations if I’m the only one who’s affected. I do however react when I sense someone else is being treated unfairly. I felt Levi was treating the homeless man unfairly. I felt he was condescending and disrespectful and acted as if he was immune to the possibility of ever being in that position himself. To tell someone they don’t ‘need’ to be homeless is patronizing. Most people have a smartphone with a simple search that can be used to find resources to offer someone in need. If Levi had taken the time to talk with the man instead of talking at him, he could’ve better understood his needs. Helping someone is letting them express their needs and not imposing what you think they need.

The extent of the homeless crisis in California is something I had never truly understood before living there. The possibility of it happening to you isn’t unfathomable but more a looming threat. I used to judge others quickly on their choices assuming their situations to be a reflection of who they were without taking into account what landed them there. From the comfort of my own reality, I couldn’t understand there might have been many factors that led up to that point. I didn’t even consider that they might not have wanted to be in that situation themselves. 

When I moved to LA, I left everything I knew and that comforted me behind (except my dog). While having lived on my own since 21, it was the first time I learned to be fully independent. I didn’t have a lifeline like I’d been accustomed to and had to be fully self-sufficient. When taken out of your normal environment and exposed to the harsh realities of the world, you change your outlook. My personal experiences, in addition to those shared with me by others, made me more empathetic. I can no longer relate to my previous close-minded judgement of others, and I react when I feel someone around me is doing just that. Whether it be working a job you never thought you would or finding yourself homeless, your reality is not what defines you. The present doesn’t define your future but your drive, perseverance and resilience do.

I love when Snapchat shows me my memories from what I did a year ago. I get to cringe with embarrassment all over again! Since my first time living in LA at 23, it became the stomping ground for me and my gay best friend Greg. He would visit me numerous times and we returned together often even when I was back living in Canada. When together we feed off each others energy and often have complete disregard of anyone around us. Once while drunk, trying to leave a bar in Santa Monica we both ordered separate Ubers to only realize once we returned home in West Hollywood at the same time. Drinking and communication are not our forte. 

Two weeks before Greg came to visit me it was Super Bowl weekend and I headed out to a rooftop bar with my roommate J. Let me clarify, I have absolutely no interest in football but I do have an interest in drinking. Which I count as a sport in itself. A few margaritas in, my hand/eye coordination wasn’t the best and somehow I spilt my drink all over myself. I headed up to the bar to get another one, sobriety was not an option. Clearly, I was not in fact sober since I couldn’t even bring my drink to my mouth but that was neither here nor there.

There was a group of people standing beside the bar and I excused my way through them. One of the guys looked at my pants and asked me what had happened. I explained how clumsy I was and he offered to get me another drink. I gladly accepted and we spoke a bit. He was from Denmark and moved here for real estate, now owning his own firm. We shall call him Realty. Super normal, nice guy, I introduced him to my roommate and he, in turn, invited us into his group. Everyone was having fun and we planned to all go for a group dinner that night. We all headed home to change before meeting back up. J was exhausted though and told me to go on my own, confident it wouldn’t be a big deal. Now I could have sworn he said group dinner, but he showed up alone too. I asked where his friends were and he said they also were tired from the day drinking and couldn’t make it. I was way too incoherent to be on a one on one date with a new guy. Fuck. Well, no turning back now! Once I embark on the margarita train there aren’t any stops for a while. I hoped this guy was on the same level as me so he wouldn’t notice my state. But he was kind, polite and such a gentleman, so definitely not the same state as me. He ordered a bunch of food and I genuinely have no idea what we ate besides paella. I remembered ordering another drink, thinking I should probably drink some water, eating paella and noticing the bill had somehow come to 500$. Shit. I didn’t even know what else I ate! He suggested we go back to his place for another drink. Was he a masochist who enjoyed torturing himself with my drunk company? We got into his Mercedes G-Wagon, again confirming my drunkenness was a one-man show and headed to his house. 

Entering his house, he gave me a little tour and pointed out his bar. Our discrepancies were beginning to show. I should never be allowed to day drink because like the energizer bunny I do not stop. The alcohol fuels me into this hulk-like drinking machine. I can drink to no end without getting sick, or tired. This is not a good thing and should be avoided at all costs. Often my memory becomes increasingly worse which pairs horribly with my lack of rationale. Drink in hand I followed him upstairs to his room which took up the entire top floor. He had a projector which he was very proud of and he lights it up by putt-ing on golf. (Sorry I had to) It was 10pm, and being a normal human he was ready to call it a day. He enjoyed waking up at 6am daily to workout before going to work. I did not have anything to do the next day and was clearly not on the same page. Watching golf was the equivalent of a lullaby that I was not ready for. Goodnight moon and goodnight you. I messaged a couple of my friends to see what they were up to and ordered myself an uber. I thanked him and said I’d go wait in the kitchen downstairs to not disturb him. 

In the kitchen, I decided I was now going to have my own personal talk show. For the following ten minutes, I filmed myself finishing a bottle of Titos I found in his bar and explaining the night to my friends via Snapchat. I sent these stories individually ensuring my friends would watch them and I’d completely regret it the next day. 

Leaving shot glasses in his sink and an empty bottle of Titos beside it I did not expect to hear from this guy again. Rewatching my snaps the next day I had makeup smeared under my eyes and I think chocolate under my nails. Looking that appalling I can only imagine how offensive my company was. Surprisingly he reached out to me a few days later asking to go for drinks. It was a short pleasant date, again showcasing his normalcy. He had immigrated to the US and knew how hard the process to be. Wanting to help, he reached out to his lawyer and put us in contact. He encouraged my love for desserts and cut himself off after two drinks. These were and are all great things, and if I were to currently meet someone that sane I would truly appreciate them. Of course, I instead found him boring.

A week went by and Greg was now arriving. My partner in crime was back! We hadn’t seen each other in about three months, so of course, we chose to commemorate our reunion with Rosé all day. By 3pm we had finished two bottles of rosé before realizing it was National Margarita Day. I am not making this up. It is an official holiday and never one to turn down an excuse to turn up, we felt obliged to support this. We did our due diligence and found a margarita bar. Well, technically it was not actually due diligence since we were past the point of being considered reasonable. The margarita gods were watching over us though because it was also 5pm. Not only were we able to take advantage of the margarita specials but also happy hour! Not wanting to get too wild on an empty stomach we ordered chips with guac. So festive and responsible of us! 

At one point during our shindig, a guy I had been texting asked if he could meet me for a drink before he headed to Shabbat. I invited him to join me and Greg for a margarita. I don’t remember much of this interaction besides him giving me his business card and paying the bill that Greg and I had racked up so far. Not having to pay, also granted us blissful ignorance to the number of doubles we just had.  

After bill payer left, Realty guy messaged me asking me to join him for dinner. I told him I was with Greg and we come as a packaged deal when together. He said not a problem and his friends were cool with that. I again believed this to be a group dinner. We debated whether or not to go and fuelled by tequila Greg and I got into an intense conversation. Greg was apprehensive if it was going to be a group of “bros” but I assured him otherwise and he agreed to go. We got an uber and headed to Sunset blvd to meet Realty for dinner. To my surprise, it was not a group dinner…it was just the three of us. I had understood it to be a group dinner, Greg and I had just spoken about this for thirty mins! I’d been day drinking, I couldn’t put him through this again! But I did.

To make the setting even more intimate we sat at the small back bar basically making the bartender the 4th guest at this dinner. In normal circumstances, I don’t think this would have even registered to me. It registered to the bartender though as he was privy to my state and cut me off by 9pm. Realty guy did not understand and questioned the bartender on his decision. The bartender pointed out I was slurring my words and “wobbly”…Oops. Where there’s an alcoholic will there’s an alcoholic way! Cut off at 9pm after 6 hours of drinking? This isn’t amateur hour! His house was 5 minutes away and I suggested we go there for another drink. We got to his house and it was as if I was seeing it for the first time, it was really nice! Having filmed my solo drinking challenge in his kitchen the previous time I remembered that but not much else. Greg and I being the polite guests we are decided to explore and noticed he had surround sound throughout his entire house. Yay for us!! Not ‘yay’ for Realty though as he was dead sober. Did we take this into consideration and be respectful of the homeowner? Absolutely not. Greg chose his go-to song, ‘Best of Both Worlds’ by Hannah Montana. Greg grabbed a nearby chair and started doing a dance similar to Carmen Electra. I began jumping up and down, chugging more vodka while alternately screaming the lyrics and words of encouragement. Realty began fidgeting with his microwave as if it could teleport him out of this hell. 

At one point I must have put myself to bed as I woke up to Realty offering to drive me home. Appreciating the offer I started to look for my purse. I had my phone but nothing else! I searched the entire house but couldn’t find it! I noticed the front door was completely open but thought nothing of it. Greg was also gone, and he wasn’t answering my phone calls. Super confused and in that lull between being drunk and the start of a hangover I called J my roommate. Thankfully she answered and let me know he was there. I asked her to put him on the phone.

Me: “Do you have my purse?”

Greg: “No Hunny, why would I have taken your purse?”

J in the background “It’s here on the kitchen table!”

Greg: “Oopsies I guess I did, you coming home now sis?”

He was as nonchalant as could be, while I was still trying to understand why my best friend inadvertently robbed me. Realty dropped me off at home and I walked in to not only find my purse on the table but an array of other objects that did not belong to me. 

Amongst my purse, there was a bottle of Chopin Vodka, a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, a Yves St Laurent authenticity card (the kind you get to legitimize your purchase) and a MacBook charger. 

Me: Oh my god, what is this??

Greg seemed to find this situation hilarious and raised his hands in a shrug while laughing. 

J: He just came home and dumped it all on the table, I can’t tell you more than that

Me: You legit robbed him…why did you take all of this?

Greg: I think I just thought everything on the entrance table was mine

Me: Well, we’ll keep the vodka cause that’s a good one but I have to tell him about the sunglasses!

Our dumb asses didn’t even realize the random wire was a MacBook charger, and so I didn’t think it was relevant, nor did I think the YSL authenticity card was important to mention. I had decided on keeping the vodka, so informing him of one item could really downplay my friends’ kleptomania. I messaged Realty letting him know Greg mistakenly took his Ray-Bans thinking they were his but we would gladly return them.

I guess this was the straw that broke the camels back, he responded a simple thank you. A week later he sent me another text asking if my friend had also ‘mistakingly’ took his MacBook charger…I pretended I’d have to check before informing him I had it. Too embarrassed to see this guy face to face I told him J would be home to give him back his stuff.

I guess getting blackout from day drinking is excusable once but twice in addition to your best friend robbing them is where it crosses the line. The more you know. 

So it’s been a while. This past weekend I went on such a horrendous date it reminded me why I started writing about these train wrecks.

About a month ago I received a direct message from a guy on Instagram, reaching out and noting that we worked in the same industry. I typically don’t respond to DMs as you would think I’d have learnt my lesson by now. However, this guy was in the same industry as me and I thought it might be a good contact. I looked at his Instagram and some of the projects he had done were very impressive. I thought to myself, let’s give this a chance. So we began messaging sporadically, it was nice that we understood each others’ work and seemed to share a similar sense of humour. Trying to put a face to who I was conversing with, I began my cyberworld deep dive. His Instagram profile didn’t have any pictures of him so this was troubling. Moving on to step two, I went through his tagged pictures hoping a friend had posted a picture. My Google search had showcased pictures from 2015 so I was hoping to find something a little more current. Finally, I found some, more current than 2015 but maybe still a year or two ago. I thought that was recent enough, and assumed he would currently look the same. He seemed to have good style, tall and with a good athletic build. I was pleasantly surprised and decided I wouldn’t be opposed to going on a date.

Now a Saturday in NYC, I spent the day with my two girlfriends catching up and gossiping. I told them about this guy and we were all very optimistic! Obviously imagining how cool of a dynamic this would be if he and I got along. With such closely related jobs, this could be a great “in” for me and we could dominate the industry as a team. That day he was working on a project, unsure of when it would wrap but would message me when he was done. My hangover was in its prime and I was napping when he finally messaged me. At this point I had no interest in leaving the house, knowing that would require me to shower and get ready which just the thought of was exhausting. I stared at the ceiling, mentally weighing the pros and cons, reminding myself this could be beneficial. Deciding at the very least, he would be a good contact so I better get my shit together.

I’m halfway through getting ready and he began texting me about the location as we still didn’t have one. I believe the guy should be assertive when asking a girl out and propose a place. In my opinion, not taking the initiative to plan shows a lack of confidence and comes across as juvenile as someone asking if you want to “hang out”. I started to feel overwhelmed as he sent a slew of messages mentioning bars I’d never even heard of, sending screenshots and asking a million questions. I was very adamant that I did not care and I’d be fine anywhere. To that, he suggested we meet on a street corner and walk around till we found a place. Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer as he followed that by saying ‘never mind, you’ll be wearing heels.’ I hadn’t decided on my outfit yet but turned to look at my shoes lined up beside the door. I guess he just told me to wear heels?

I got out of my Uber on a street I realize I’d only ever frequented as a Sunday day drinking activity. The street and sidewalks were crowded with young hipsters and I looked around for the guy I had Googled. I noticed him a little further up, but he looked skinnier. Much skinnier. Imagine that distinct turning point as someone gets older and starts withering away. I knew he was 9 years older than me but he looked like a worn-out alcoholic. He had a leather jacket on top of a sweater resembling Lenny Kravitz’s scarf fiasco. The sleeves of his sweater extended past his jacket, reaching mid-palm that he clutched on to, really embodying the worn-out alcoholic vibe.

Immediately I regretted leaving my house as I knew this was not going to be a good time. Having just arrived, I felt I couldn’t excuse myself so instead, I prayed for patience. This was one of the only bars on the street that required patrons to be sitting. It was quiet, and very dimly lit but with tables only it facilitated the ability to actually have a conversation. The host brought us to a table, and I entered one side of the L shaped booth. My date then scooted into the booth beside me and kind of half lounged, half sat as if he was in his living room. I was definitely confused and not too sure what was happening. Maybe this was just his regular posture, so I placed my purse down between us hoping to create some sort of barrier. Throughout this increasingly odd situation, he continually looked around in a very fidgety nervous way. Initially, it made me question if there was something on my face. Was there something I was missing? Further settling into his position I just assumed him to be socially awkward.

We ordered a drink each and began talking about work. I was trying to relate or even just participate in the conversation but everything just kept going back to him. I mentioned how I loved drag and he responded that he did all the wigs for a 70’s rock singer. I knew who he was referring to but didn’t get the connection. She was not and is not one of the female singers often idolized. His name-dropping being more of a brag than anything relevant to the conversation. Deciding to carry on with his commandeering approach he mentioned that my Instagram did not reflect my work and I should reconsider what I put on social media. I agreed to a certain extent, however, I enjoy having my personal one. I admitted posting a bikini picture was a little risqué and not professional. Instead of staying with the professional stance that he initially approached the topic with, he said

“Yeah, I liked that picture in real life but I didn’t like it on Instagram cause I hadn’t met you yet and didn’t want to come across as creepy”

That would’ve been a fine thing to say minus the fact he was already following me and interacting with me, to think that far into it, is far more creepy.

Staying on brand, bringing everything back to him, he brought up his Instagram and how he had to make changes. Apparently, he had pictures with numerous famous people and the attention it brought had just gotten to be too much that he had to delete them. I held back from informing him that knowing celebrities was not a personality trait. The name-dropping had now reached a new high for the evening. Staring at me expecting a reaction, I apologized, explaining I didn’t know half the people he was referring too. He then brought up the name of a very well known Victoria’s Secret model that he’d worked with, Adriana Lima. 

“Among all the pictures I had to delete, there was one with Adriana, because she was my ex”

Her name is one of the few I actually recognized, I’m also aware she has two kids and was married. Trying to figure out the timeline I asked when he dated her. He said she took a break from her husband and they dated between her having her two kids…likely story. I mean at first, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though in my head I was thinking the worn-out alcoholic dated her??? No need to fret, he cleared up my confusion in no time when he decided he’d find the picture of them to show me.

Honouring the seriousness of their supposed relationship he went to their Instagram direct messages. A telltale sign what they had was special since they didn’t have each other’s phone numbers. In this case, I took special to mean delusional. With his phone between us, showing me the screen, he started scrolling through their correspondences to find this sacred selfie. For the life of me, I do not know why he wanted to show these “interactions” as similar to our date they were all one-sided. He scrolled past paragraph upon paragraph without an answer. Numerous heart emojis and double messaging to which her responses were “Thank you” or a simple heart emoji back. It was creepy to see him fully having a conversation with himself in her DMs. Finally, he landed on the picture which only amplified my second-hand embarrassment. The picture resembled the classic selfie one does when they catch a celebrity in passing and have 5 seconds to capture the moment. It seemed to be taken while at a group dinner, given that he has worked with her professionally, I assumed it to most likely be a wrap party. Now it really started to resonate with me that he was indeed special and I believe interpreted situations differently than most. Obviously responding the best way I knew how I made a joke.

So… I guess you go for girls with dark hair and blue eyes?

“Well, my dad has the same colouring, but I’m scared since I have brown eyes they’ll cancel out the blue ones and then my daughter won’t get them!”

Oh dear god, I meant that as a joke! That was the only thing I could think of at the moment besides telling him I thought he suffered from celebrity worship syndrome. Maybe I should have said the latter as I then felt that I was going to be kidnapped with my eyes gouged out. To continue on this topic he complimented my eyes but added that I wear a lot of makeup. Obviously, he wasn’t going to stop the weird-train there and asked to see a picture of me without makeup. I had a “favourites” album in my photos so knew I could find a picture within seconds which would make this easier than protesting. Unlike him, I have no interest in exposing the contents of my phone, let alone pictures to a stranger. However, Slouchy McSloucherson in his delusion did not pick up on this social cue as he leaned into me, and like Hanson from Scary Movie 2 extended his “strong hand” and clicked another photo on my phone. Um, Excusez-moi? Who does that? You do not touch someone else’s phone! Do I truly have to explain that my personal phone is not Google images and you can’t invite yourself to look at my private pictures? That’s private pictures to be clear not pictures of privates but nonetheless, my point is the same.

I’m sitting up straight with my back glued to the booth unsure what to do with this guy who seemingly has no concept of personal space or manners. He was still hovering above my phone where he saw a picture of a model I worked on. ‘Let me send that picture to myself, I want to edit it to show how you could post it on Instagram’ This idiot edited the picture to black and white…I do makeup. That completely defeats the purpose of posting a makeup picture where colours do matter. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what was most shocking. His phone was still between us when he texted himself the picture and I saw my ENTIRE NAME appear. To this point, we had only communicated via Instagram which meant he had to have gone to my website, found my contact information and saved my phone number from there. In his delusion, this was completely normal but liking my picture on Instagram was where he believed to be crossing the creep line???

Had the date ended there it would have definitely made my bad date list, but it wouldn’t have left me as disgusted as I was about to be. His weird vibe permeated the space between us as drink number two arrived.

“So, have you ever done drugs?”

Have I tried them? Yes, but it’s not something that has ever been common for me.

Apparently, me saying I don’t really do them inspired him to go on a tangent about how he used to LOVE doing them.

Umm Okay? I’m confused. I don’t really think drug use or past abuse of them is really a “first date” topic. We’d also only had two drinks at that point or at least I’d only had two drinks. I was starting to wonder if maybe he had pre-gamed for this date as he dropped his phone on the floor. I leaned down and picked it up for him as he hadn’t even noticed. Reunited with his phone this inspired him to check for his other belongings. All the while still slouching he began throwing his jacket and sweater around like a kid in a ball pit. I’m guessing he was looking for his wallet which he had now dropped too. Leaning down to pick up his wallet I took this moment to readjust myself, creating more space between us when I sat back up. Unphased by his own sloppiness he continued to talk about his love for cocaine. Having no interest to further engage I simply said I couldn’t relate. This apparently was perplexing as he squinted at me.

“What? Coke doesn’t make you want to fuck?”

After that question, he wasn’t the only one perplexed. I was so taken aback, not only by the statement but the absurdity of this conversation. Did he genuinely deem this to be an appropriate thing to say? I repeated that I couldn’t relate, adding that to my knowledge, anyone I know who’s done it would say the same. I guess he wasn’t getting that this was already FUCKING WEIRD. Translating my “can’t relate” to “please tell me more” he kicked it up a notch, divulging his sexual perversions.

“Well, I love to choke a girl out or slap her while high on coke”

*Looks at me*

“Do you have any coke?”

Jesus take the wheel. I began texting my friends to see where they were cause I needed to fucking leave! I told him it was getting late and reiterated my previous stance explaining drugs were not a normality for me nor would I even know anyone who sold them. Apparently, turning down one substance meant I needed another according to him. In all seriousness, he looked at me and asked: “Do you want to SPLIT a drink?” Umm, Sorry what? It wasn’t like we had been drinking wine or a pitcher of beer. We had been drinking separate, different drinks. Finally picking up on a social cue he noticed my bewilderment explaining since I had said I needed to leave we could just split one. NEVER IN MY LIFE HAS SOMEONE ASKED ME TO SPLIT A DRINK! Let alone a GROWN-ASS 38 year old!!!! If that’s not a broke alcoholic move I don’t know what is!!!! The concept of splitting a drink reminds me of something I would have done while underage. A night out at a bar with my girlfriends, pooling together our part-time cashier money for an  $8 drink.

I politely declined his offer, and he said that he just needed to go to the bathroom, then we could pay and head out. Perfect. I had Uber open on my phone, address typed in and was just waiting on his return to say bye in a courteous way. Well well well, courteous did not seem to be a term on his mind upon returning. He SCOOTED himself in beside me with renewed energy, looked at me and said:

“So how many guys are you fucking this week?”

WHAT?

” Well you went out last night to a bar, so we won’t count whoever that was. But like on regular rotation..how many guys a week?”

Oh, Hunny, at least you saved me from feeling I needed to be courteous with my goodbye. Appalled, I pressed confirm on my Uber and jumped up!

Umm, None but thank you for tonight. My Uber is here!

“No problem! Let me know if you want to do this again sometime… I’d love to do coke with you.”

During my June 2018 trip to LA, before moving there, I matched with several people on Bumble and began conversing with a few. I was at the airport, about to board my flight and was exchanging messages with a cute little blonde guy. Note, I am not attracted to blondes. I find they tend to look young and innocent. I look young because of Botox and well anyone to call me innocent most likely hasn’t heard me speak. That being said, genuinely I am neither of the two, so I don’t look for such qualities in someone I want to date. I am aware I have completely projected these qualities onto male blondes and for all I know they could be Jeffrey Dahmer, however, moving on…

Blondie began calling me while I was back in Canada. He wanted to FaceTime and chat, and all those things that would genuinely excite a girl if she were interested. Remember however I clearly am not a rational person and don’t like when guys are too nice or as I’ve already presumed him to be innocent, kind and young. I answered periodically over the next few months when he would call or text, catching me at a time when I was bored. Sometimes I wouldn’t answer for two months, sometimes it was two minutes, just unintentionally keeping it exciting. I had decided throughout these months I was going to move back to LA come November. Blondie was very excited about this news and started sending me websites for apartment listings and being innocent, kind and nice…or being a good person, whatever…I’ll leave that to your interpretation. I appreciated his kindness and conversed with him a little more frequently. He knew when I was landing and invited me to go out with him and his friends. Knowing I’d be exhausted I offered to meet him the next day.

Blondie and I both lived in West Hollywood so decided to grab some food and drinks at a nearby spot. We had maybe two drinks each and maybe a burger or sandwich, nothing wild. Honestly, I wish I could remember the conversation we had, but I can’t even remember what I ate, and I associate all my memories with food.

You may at this point wonder why I always put myself in such awkward positions. Frankly, I often ask myself the same questions at night before my sleeping pill kicks in. However, this time I was able to rationalize that I was, and still am, new to LA. Putting myself in boring or awkward situations all the fucking time just to meet people. I may hate the guy I go on a date with, but he may have a cool girlfriend I may end up being friends with.. you never know. Yes, that sounds cruel, but it’s LA! Los Angeles is like an alternate universe where you get a free pass for the majority of behaviour that would otherwise classify you as an asshole.

Back to Blondie…The bill came and you would have thought it was blondies’ first time going anywhere besides Chick-Fil-A (I would’ve preferred that tbh). Opening the bill folder, he let out a gasp. Immediately I felt awkward and confused by this little outburst and asked if everything was okay. He assured me everything was okay…except for the amount. Apparently, he was not expecting our meal to total “so much”. I quickly did some fucked up version of mental math in my head.

Basically this:

I came to the conclusion it could not be too expensive so I reached into my wallet and took out a 100$ bill. I extended it to him saying “Here, let me help”

Blondie: “Oh yeah wow thanks! I’ll take care of the tip”

Now I don’t like the phrase “Just the tip” in any circumstance, let alone when it comes to a bill! But instead, I smile, nod and say not a problem! I understand by extending a large bill to him (I didn’t have a smaller bill to offer) it could give the impression I was willing to cover the whole thing, but I did emphasize the word “help”. To me, that insinuates at least splitting the amount between us. As a general rule, disregarding gender roles in dating, I believe whoever suggests the date should be responsible to take care of the bill at the end. If you can’t treat, don’t eat.

So here we are again, I’ve put myself in an awkward position, not my ideal but I have no friends. I’d started drinking, so I knew I could at least entertain myself given most cases so I agreed to go for another drink with him.

We headed up LaCienega to Sunset boulevard where there are plenty of little bars. We entered one, grabbed two drinks (leaving my wallet in my purse this time) and sat down at a high top table. We began talking, well actually, I began listening. I had no interest in talking as I knew that would hinder how entertaining I found this experience. Everything was going just swell until Blondie decided he wanted to get emotional. We most likely were only three drinks into the evening at this point. Enough to make him emotional but not nearly enough for me to be tolerating this. I really do wish I was making this next part up but unfortunately, my initial judgements of him seemed true. He started talking about how all the girls in his past had used him or treated him like shit. I felt so bad, going into life coach-mode trying to give him some Tony Robbins-esque speech about how he needs to love himself. (Obviously drinking, I wouldn’t be surprised if I quoted Justin Bieber’s song) That approach clearly didn’t work as he then started crying. It wasn’t a casual cry either, it was to the point I had to go get him napkins. Between sobs, he shared how no girl he had liked, had ever, liked him back as much. Now I was in a tricky position. There’s a part of me who hates to see anyone upset, so naturally, my first thought was “Fuck, now I have to date this guy so he feels better”. Then the realistic part of me was like “Fuck, I’m one of those girls.” Initially, I was grateful when Blondie interrupted my mental weighing of the pros and cons but that gratitude was short-lived. Blondie was requesting we take a picture together so that he could send it to his ex to make her jealous (Cue eye roll). At least the tears had been wiped away as I guess the idea of vengeance warmed him.

We moved to the bar next door, grabbing a table on the terrace to enjoy our martinis. Coincidentally, two guys he knew were also at this bar. We had greeted them briefly when we entered as they were with a rowdy group of girls. I guess their flow of cocaine dwindled down because the girls left soon after. No longer having an entourage, 60-year-old Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum came and joined us. As I mentioned we were sitting outside so I still had my jacket on. It started getting busier, heat lamps were on, I was drinking and so I was warming up. Tweedle-dee sat down beside me while Tweedle-dum stood, being too incoherent to sit down as his high would hit him all at once. To be honest I think he would’ve fallen forward onto his face. We were all talking, I was making jokes about god knows what and then Tweedle-dee took off his jacket. This helped me realize that I was also hot so I put my jacket on the back of my chair. Ohhhhhhh no no no unbeknownst to me I had broken a cardinal rule. Blondie had more things in common with Jeffrey Dahmer than I thought.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Me:

Him: Heeeeeee took off his jacket, youuuuuu took off your jacket…am I missing something????

I clearly knew this was my cue to exit, Tears were a nice touch and I genuinely felt bad for the guy initially. However, we hadn’t even spent more than a few hours together in person and to get that possessive is not a good look. I was down 100$ on an evening that didn’t even compare to the happiness a 30cent pack of Ramen could bring me. I apologized and excused myself to go home. A couple of weeks later I received a DM on Instagram insulting me and telling me I treat everyone like shit, he had put that part in CAPS just to emphasize how bad of a person I am.

Afternote: I often find it interesting how two people can be present in the exact same situation and have completely different experiences and interpretations. I try to be as self-aware as I possibly can be but nothing in my life has prepared me for dating in LA. This was the second dating situation I had in LA and I’ve now started to backtrack since my two original posts.

In June 2018, one of my best friends’ and I decided to attend Pride in Los Angeles. We live in different cities but both love LA so we thought it would be the perfect time to reunite! I arrived at the airport on time, made my flight and arrived at LAX.  I headed to grab a coffee while I waited for my friends’ flight to land as we had scheduled our flights to have similar arrivals. As I was ordering my Iced coffee as one does upon arriving in the land of basic bitches, I got a text: “Hey love, work is crazy, won’t make my flight. I’ll meet you in LA tomorrow xoxo”. Alright. Splendid. I used to live in LA 2015-2016 so I figured I’d busy myself with my old routines and go to my favourite makeup stores in the valley. Well, I forgot I don’t like shopping and tend to be in and out of places quickly so that plan soon exhausted itself. Onto plan B, I downloaded Bumble.

It was approximately 6pm in LA which was 9pm eastern time. I busied myself trying to find a date for the evening as I’d rather not waste a night in LA and I’m not one for drinking alone. I matched with a few guys and set up a few dates for the next 24 hours. Now my preferred method of approach on bumble is to say something ridiculous and see how they respond. Good looks in LA are as common as a tourist taking a picture in front of the “Hollywood” sign. I often don’t pay much attention to someone’s outward appearance until the conversation truly captures my interest. I matched with a tall brown-haired guy, posing beside a surfboard in his picture, his bio read that he was “looking for something genuine…as if that were to exist in LA”. I thought that to be clever and sent a message purposely butchering his one-syllable name. After a few messages he called me out, “you’re way too nice to be from LA, where are you from?” I told him I was Canadian to which I received “Sucks, seemed like there could’ve been something there. Best of luck”. Now I was like hold on, wait a second, I don’t like to be dismissed and am always up for a challenge.

“I’m here for 5 days we could meet up for a drink”

Him: “Nobody wants to fall in love and then get on a plane”

Me: “Whoever said something about love? I said a drink…”

Him: “Okay fine, meet me at the SLS at 7pm”

Me: “I need more than 15 minutes to get ready, can we do 7:30?”

Him: “Just let me know next time you’re in America”

I was so annoyed that this guy kept being so up and down. I responded that I wasn’t aware 15 minutes would be such a deal-breaker but I’d be up to meet him at that time if he changed his mind. Acting as if he was doing me a favour he messaged back
“Fine. We can do 7:30.” I finished getting ready and ordered an Uber. I’m an extremely punctual person and so assured I would arrive exactly at 7:30pm. Not sure why I was even going to meet this human at this point, feeling I’d forced myself upon him already. My uber pulled up to the SLS, as the time on my phone went from 7:29pm to 7:30pm and then a 310 number popped up.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, it’s 7:30, I’m on the steps of the SLS, where are you?”

Legitimately I do not know how I got out of the car but apparently, I did cause this story continues…

I stepped out of the car wearing Stuart Weitzman pearl-embellished heels, black pants, black bodysuit, a Hermes belt and Chanel purse. I saw he was wearing jeans, a t-shirt and converse. I had expected him to look like a douche but I was actually pleasantly surprised. Had I known him to be wearing converse I probably would’ve done the same. I thought to myself maybe he’s not as bad as he seemed. Wrong. We walked up to the table where he chose to sit on the opposite end from me and as far away as possible. He crossed his arms, stretched out his legs and with a “sup” nod said “tell me about yourself.”

I obviously never know how to answer this question. I don’t know how to define the lines of being inappropriate enough to show that I have a personality, but conservative enough not to offend them within five minutes.

I decided I’d go with the standard topics. I spoke about what I studied in university and the business I’d built for myself over the last three years. He raised his eyebrows after this, looked me up and down, and while gesturing to my accessories said: “So, you’re not an escort?” God must have spent extra time making him such a jaded character. I did not even know how to answer that but reassured him I was not. Mind you, we hadn’t even ordered our drinks yet. With the time difference, I had been up since 3am West Coast time so I ordered a Black Russian, convincing myself coffee liquor counted as coffee. He, of course, ordered a Johnnie Walker, no surprise there.

The conversation awkwardly continued. It picked up a little while sharing drunken stories from years ago, and I had hope that maybe this date was taking a turn for the better. But as the clock struck 10pm as if he had the pressure of Cinderella, he asked for the check and kindly offered to drive me home. I hadn’t even expected him to offer but gladly accepted. He pulled up to where I was staying and got out of his car to give me a hug goodbye. Then he redeemed his douchebag points as he peeled out and sped off like he was at the Indy 500.

I couldn’t figure this guy out for the life of me. So, instead of keeping any ounce of self-respect I may have had left, I decided to message him. Maybe this was my telltale Canadian side that people refer to as “being nice” or maybe this was just me being an idiotic female who made up a different story in her mind than the shared reality. Regardless, I thanked him for a nice evening out and told him I enjoyed my time with him. Keeping true to his Jekyll and Hyde nature he texted back “Np, me too, too bad we’ll never see each other again.”

Now you would assume the story to have ended there. At this point, it has already survived extinction twice based solely on the fact that I do not have a brain. Surprise surprise, it did not end there. As any millennial conversation goes, especially with anyone you find remotely interesting, we did the mature thing and continued conversing throughout the weekend exclusively using memes. Somehow the memes led us to be reunited Monday evening before my flight on Tuesday morning. I took an uber to his office in Santa Monica (If you guessed he had a white-collar job, you thought correctly) and we headed to happy hour.

This little date was off to a much better start. We were actually having a normal conversation and began sharing some personal stories. We both shared things about our exes and why our past relationships didn’t work out. I personally believe this is a good time in dating to address such topics. You learn a lot about another person from their past but nobody wants to hear about someone’s ex once they’ve developed feelings for the person. So once again, I believed things to be going well, we were at a point where I thought he’d understand my sense of humour. On this premise, I decided to show him a picture I had taken a couple of days before, sure that it would ensue a laugh.

I guess I may have jumped the gun as he did not find the picture of my botched spray tan to be as endearing or hilarious as I thought it was. He remained stone-faced and his body language changed. To clarify, the above picture is with said spray tan and not a snapchat of Winnie Harlow.

We’d been together for about two hours now and as predictable as the first time, he asked for the bill, drove me home, and gave me a hug. As predictable as I am, I sent a thank you text. His response: “Neither of those were dates, they were both friend auditions. You made your intentions clear by talking about your ex and then showing me a picture of yourself without makeup. Nobody does that unless they’re trying to friend zone, wish you the best.”

And that ladies and gentleman is the mind fuck of trying to date in LA.

Ps. I still think it’s a hilarious picture and will continue showing it

A few months ago, I was in New York. Apparently, I encountered a human who asked for my number to which I gave him my Instagram instead. Not surprisingly, I did not remember this encounter, but he reached out through a direct message saying he was coming to LA and would like to meet. After perusing his profile, I deemed him normal and so agreed.

I arrived to our scheduled encounter first and sat down outside the restaurant to wait.  Suddenly, I felt someone come up behind me and grab my shoulders, reminiscent of the way a creepy Uncle would at an annual family gathering. Immediately I thought to myself “Oh, he’s THAT kind of guy…the kind who thinks they’re absolutely hilarious while telling a dad joke that only makes them laugh”. I then got a chance to look at him in which he further validated my theory by having wrapped his sweater around his waist! In my opinion, either wear a jacket or don’t, but be committed, it’s called the weather app….use it.

Awkward introduction out of the way, we went inside. I wasn’t quite sure what kind of restaurant this was, it was as if Mexican and Asian cuisines had had a baby. Sweater Man insisted we begin the evening by doing the tequila sampler. Not the biggest fan of tequila,   I agreed as long as we compromised for Mezcal. The waiter brought them over and I went to try the first one. As I was not raised by wolves I knew to sip it and not shoot it.

Sweater Man then exclaimed, “You’re not supposed to shoot it!!!”

Me “I didn’t, you can see there’s still half of it left in my glass”

Sweater Man, while wiping his brow, “Oh sorry, it looked like you were drinking it all!”

He then chuckled to himself as if he had just narrowly missed witnessing the most asinine thing. At that point, I was not only annoyed by his style but his pretentious attitude. As if reading my mind for the second time that evening, he decided to validate my presumptions. Sweater Man beckoned the waiter over as he wanted to further prove his alcohol knowledge. Pointing to the second Mezcal on the sampling flight he asked the waiter if he would be able to see the bottle. The waiter returned and handed the bottle to Sweater Man. Whenever I have previously been in this position, it was presumably because the patron wanted to see exactly what the bottle looked like or potentially take a picture for future reference. This was not the scenario I was about to be privy to however as Sweater man took the cap off the bottle, dabbed its’ cork into the palm of his hand and proceeded to rub his hands together. Opening up his hands, he took an exaggerated inhale breathing in the smell of the alcohol. While exhaling he proclaimed “Ah yes! This is a good one!” Let me just clarify, WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A RESTAURANT!!! The waiter and I stared at each other as if telepathically asking if this was a big joke…I don’t care if “That’s how you see if an alcohol is good based on the notes you smell in your hands” IT’S WEIRD!!! Just smell the damn drink. Also now he had tainted this bottle by rubbing the cap of it in his sweaty little palms!

Moving on, as if he hadn’t traumatized me or the waiter enough he asked the waiter to take a picture of us. I mean this isn’t even something I do when out with my girlfriends as I find it embarrassing. We had just met, how do you know you’ll even want to remember the person? Most people in LA don’t even save someones’ phone number until after the first date, let alone take a picture with them! To make this situation even more absurd taking this picture meant he had to pause from eating his nachos, which he was using chopsticks to eat! Apparently, the picture didn’t cut it though because he then TOOK OFF HIS WATCH and asked if he could take a picture of me wearing it. The image of my little 6lbs Maltese dog peeing to mark his territory flashed in my mind. All I wanted to do was eat my dumplings and “sip” my drink.

Alas, not trying to be rude I awkwardly obliged, he thanked me and sent the picture to a group chat with his friends. He then put his phone down on the table, leaned into it and STARTED VOICE TEXTING at the table. I get it, using Siri is easier but NOT IN PUBLIC. There were people around, I, nor they, need to hear you repeatedly yell into your phone “l o l”.

He spent a little more time on his phone and then looked up at me and said “prete”

Me: Pardon?

Him: “Prete”

Me: Sorry what?

Him: “PREEETE”

Me: Yeah, no… I just don’t get what you’re saying

Him: It means “ready” in French!

The fuck it does! He started waving his little phone in my face, google translate lighting up the screen saying “Look I’m learning French for you!” I explain the proper pronunciation. Then think “fuck it” and shoot my mezcal because at this point mama needs it.

Sweater Man seemed to not understand that I was not entertained by such a thing and continued googling words. He completely butchered the pronunciation of each word but would look at me as if I was the CRAZY one to not understand his Franglais. We had now reached a cycle of him alternating between voice texting his group chat and then yelling a word at me. Observing what was left of the tasting flight I knew there was not enough alcohol for me to tolerate this much longer.

Trying my best to not get up and leave I busied myself eating and drinking while he continued to talk about himself. This dinner had essentially become a monologue until he then took a pause. I assumed this was because he needed to take a breath, but he looked at my plate and said: “Wow you eat like a monster!” Wondering if I’d heard correctly, I responded “Pardon?” Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked him to clarify as he went on to tell me how it was not normal how much I ate, and he believed me to have an eating disorder of some kind. Confused, I simply stated, “I just really enjoy eating.” Apparently, this was not the right answer and he diagnosed me with an addiction to food.

Clearly, he did not suffer from the same “food addiction” as me, given the amount that still occupied his plate. I ordered myself another drink and braced myself to be diagnosed with another addiction. After a few long minutes, my drink arrived, this was very exciting for both of us for different reasons. I was excited because of my food and alcohol addiction, and he was excited because I had ordered a martini, which he could pick up and pretend like he was James Bond.

Him: Oh wow, I always want to order a Martini, but never knew how! What is this?

Me: I always get an extra dirty Vodka Martini with no Vermouth

Him: Oh, I could NEVER order that…

Me: Why?

He looked intensely at me, as if I had just asked if cows could fly and responded, “I can’t ask a waiter for something EXTRA Dirty…I’m a Man”

I held back my urge to gag as the waiter came to clear our plates. As he was clearing, he asked how everything was, of course the answer Sweater Man came out with was “It was the bomb dot com”.

On Tuesday while patiently waiting for my friend to finish doing a few things around the house, I decided to start using Bumble. I swiped right on a guy who seemed semi-funny, and decent looking. We started talking and found out we live approximately 3 blocks away from each other. He explained he had forgotten his ID at his friends’ house and that he would uber it to himself the following night and we could then go out for a drink.

Now Wednesday, He messaged me letting me know he did not go into work and so I could come over whenever. As much as I do drink, I am not an alcoholic nor do I see the need to begin drinking with a stranger at 3pm. That being said, we agreed I would meet him at his place at 5pm and then go out. I took my shower and got ready, meanwhile, my phone would just not stop vibrating.

So now I had received two odd messages back to back. I was starting to reconsider heading over to his place. However, I had already committed and felt guilty cancelling so last minute. He offered to order me an uber, so I sent him the address of another place on my street and headed outside to wait for my ride.

I arrived at his place, (The Granville Towers on Crescent Heights where Marilyn Monroe briefly lived) and this kid was FULL of energy. I mean I sat down and he was practically bouncing off the walls, actually not practically…literally. He was bouncing up and down cross-legged on the couch before putting one leg down, pivoting and attempting to open a nearby door handle with his foot. Please reference the above photo to understand the creepy lighting situation also going on at that moment.

Don’t get me wrong, I can be eccentric myself but I was extremely overwhelmed by this intense encounter. I tried to ask him, as casually as one could, if he was on anything? He said he had taken some shake to increase brainpower. I am not sure if he was referring to nootropics? I was definitely leaning more towards prescription or illicit drugs. Not knowing how to process this, I moved on. His antics continued to which I asked “Do you have Aspergers?”,  He turned, looked at me, and said “Well according to the last documentary I watched, it’s actually Asperg-“é”, you’re French, you should know this. But no, I do not have “Aspergé””.  I was racking my brain at this point trying to figure out what was going on with this guy. I get that my questions could’ve come across as offensive, but this situation was so mind-boggling, I was trying to rationalize it in my mind! Of course, my approach was then to up the ante on the offensive questions.

“Do you have turrets?”

Him: No, I have AIDS! Kidding, that’s the turrets talking, kidding I don’t have turrets.

I took a deep breath, drank a sip of wine and questioned my life decisions that had brought me to this moment. I’ll note here, that upon arrival I had insisted we switch wine glasses as they had already been filled. I had been skeptical, but suffice to say the “nootropics” were not in the wine.

Coming back to reality and realizing I had barely eaten, I asked if we could go get food. He responded that he would get his friend to order food because he did not have Postmates (LA version of Uber Eats) himself. I, thinking like a normal human, asked him why he did not want to just download said app as it would be a lot easier than asking a friend. He made up some story about how adding a credit card to an app was hard…

Him: My friend ordered chicken, spinach and broccoli, it’s on the way.

Me: Oh, did you not order for yourself?

Him: Well no? I asked my friend to order ME food. I’m not going to tell him we’re two people and for him to order for both of us….You’ll just eat what he would’ve sent for me.

*Food arrived*

I ate my food, sharing chicken pieces with my dog, who I of course, brought along with me. I asked if he wanted any, he declined.

*Ended meal, returned to sitting on the couch*

I am not sure what transpired from sitting on the floor, eating off the coffee table too when I returned to the couch that changed the dynamic, but he then went to grab my ass. He had been extremely touchy all night but I had made it clear and repeatedly expressed I was not interested in anything physical. He said a little spiel about how he wanted to spend time with me, and also didn’t want it to be physical. He then backed up his point by reaching his hand behind my back and like a prepubescent 12-year-old boy unhooked my bra. Astonished, I reattached the hooks and reiterated I wasn’t comfortable hooking up and maybe it would be a good idea if I left. He protested, repeating no, no, no, I want to spend time with you! I’ll behave…AS HE REACHED TO PULL OFF MY PANTS! I was done. I stood up, looked at him and emphasized this was not what I came for. Clearly, we had both read the situation differently and I was going to go.

Him: I thought you wanted to hook up? You let me unhook your bra?

Me: I did not let you unhook my bra, you took that upon yourself. You doing something, after I told you I didn’t want to hook up with you, does not then make me want to hook up with you! I’m going to go…

*He turned around, went to the bathroom, (He did not open it with his foot this time) and proceeded to talk to himself behind the door*

*I pranced to the entrance, grabbed my boots and began putting them on*

He emerged from the bathroom, walked up to me, and with a quizzical look on his face, asked “That’s it? You’re really going to leave me?” Trying to ensure the situation did not escalate, I suggested we go for a drink outside at a bar, he agreed and said he would go change.

A few minutes later he returned, walked up to me again, this time grabbing both of my arms. He then patted them and said, “Okay, goodbye”.

I was beyond confused but did not hesitate for a second. I grabbed my dog and practically ran down the staircase. Walking home, I began thinking about how weird that had been but thank god I left before it had gotten weirder. Apparently, I spoke too soon as my phone started going off…

After sending me such heartwarming messages he then proceeded to call me for the next three hours, all the while still messaging. I do not live in a hotel nor is there one on my street, however I think at one point he had taken an uber to my area and was walking around. I do not know for sure as I was hiding inside my apartment, already having blocked him on bumble. I then received a voicemail, saying he couldn’t find me on the app and would like to talk to me, including if I were to message him tomorrow “he would be normal”!!

I then woke up to a text saying “What happened last night”.

Moral of the story:

-Never go to someones’ house the first time to meet them

-Never give them your real address

-Go with your initial feelings

-Share your location with numerous friends at all times

-Bring your dog on all dates